


"You never heard me talk of Victor Trevor?"

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Feels, Fluff, Love, M/M, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Sweet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-02
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-13 09:51:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock met Victor Trevor's dog before he met the man himself. </p><p>"The man looked at him in awe, and then blushed faintly, “It is a great honour to intrigue you, Mr Holmes, but, alas, I am just a fan. Less of the ‘will you marry me’ blushing fan, but more of the admiring one. I know you from Dr Watson’s blog, even if he does romanticise it all. How could I fail to know you, what with the trademark coat and scarf?”"</p><p>Title from "The 'Gloria Scott'" in the Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes.</p><p>*Under construction*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've edited all the chapters I've written so far, mostly only little things have changed, but hopefully it's a little more in character now. ^_^
> 
> MORE EDITING WOOP WOOP

The crime scene was a simple one, not worth his time, and John had been too busy at work to come, so Sherlock walked sullenly up the street alone, bored as ever. There must be _something_ interesting going on in London, he thought bitterly.

Molly had refused to give him any body parts from the morgue, even fingers, and Sherlock could feel the black haze of boredom clouding up his mind. Mycroft was due for a visit too, and he knew that the visit was only going to exacerbate his jaded disposition.

Cutting across the park, he was brought abruptly from his thoughts by a loud bark from in front of him and a searing pain in his ankle.

“Argh!” Sherlock exclaimed, “Get this blasted thing off me!”

The thing in question was a young bull terrier, only a puppy, with his teeth embedded in Sherlock’s ankle. And he was not letting go.

“Gladstone! Gladstone, get off! I’m so sorry!” the owner cried, tugging at the lead urgently.

Eventually the dog relented his grip and retreated, whimpering at his scolding. It left behind a ripped and bloody ankle, which Sherlock attempted to stand on, only for an intense pain to shoot up his leg. But Sherlock was nothing if not stubborn, and refused to give in to the severe throbbing in his ankle.

“I’m so, so sorry, Mr Holmes, he’s never usually like this! But he is only a puppy, and doesn’t know he’s done wrong.”

“Stupid dog.” Sherlock grumbled, “Can’t you control the blasted thing!”

“I’m ever so sorry, really I am! He’s never done this before!” the man babbled, “Oh your ankle! You should really go see a doctor!”

“Well I was on my way home to one before your beast attacked me!” scowled Sherlock in reply, “And I have a perfectly good Doctor at home.”

“Oh, of course, but Baker Street is a fair walk from here.” He insisted, “You can’t possibly walk all the way when your leg is in such a dreadful state.”

“I am perfectly capable of hailing a taxi.” Sherlock replied obstinately.

“I know but I’d much rather make sure you were well...”

Sherlock studied the man carefully; the man knew his address and his name but he called him ‘Mr Holmes’ so probably not a personal connection, more likely a client he’d once had. But Sherlock rarely forgot a face, even if he deleted names, and he did not recognise this face at all. The man was about his height and age, with wild curly blonde hair, much curlier than his own, and he had light stubble (three days worth, Sherlock observed). His eyes were bright green, a slightly offset nose, broken at least twice while boxing, sat above his thin pink lips. He had a very typically kind face; the apologies he had once again begun to spew out ran deep into his eyes too, adding to the sincerity.  The man wore an old watch, very expensive,  his clothes were modest, but not cheap and Sherlock could tell he was well off, born into money like he was, but reluctant to use his fortune.

The man seemed harmless. Judging by the state of his hands he was a man of science and had once studied medicine, if his concern for infection rather than the large amount of blood was anything to go by.

At last Sherlock spoke, interrupting his fumbled request for forgiveness, “Alright then. But once my ankle is patched up I must leave at once.”

“Yes, yes most certainly!” he acquiesced, “We’re only a few minutes away from my flat, if that is alright? Here let me help you...”

He attempted to grab Sherlock’s arm but the detective pulled away, “I’m quite sure I can manage on my own,” he looked at the man’s disheartened face and thought of John, “...but thank you for the offer, I suppose.”

The man looked up, smiling genuinely, and extended an arm to show the way.

The walk was silent, Sherlock contemplating his deductions more, trying to find some scandal in the family but was unsuccessful. This man seemed to live on the straight and narrow path. Dull.

Sherlock’s deductions were further strengthened by their arrival at the flat. It was the entire top floor of a long row of old Victorian terraced houses, in one of the most expensive areas in London.  He was soon seated in the large kitchen, with his ankle propped up on a foot stool, the blonde man delicately dabbing at the blood and mumbling more apologies.

Sherlock interrupted the latest bout of apologies with his deductions, “You’re not an acquaintance of mine, nor are you a client, yet you know my name, and address me as though you are very sure of it. I would say I know you from university, you are the correct age, but I do not recognise your face at all, and I never forget a face. Now, that leaves a fan, but even then you would have addressed me as ‘Sherlock’, skipping the formalities. Hmmm, you intrigue me. Now, how _do_ you know me?”

The man looked at him in admiration, and then blushed faintly, “It is a great honour to intrigue you, Mr Holmes, but, alas, I am just a fan. Less of the ‘will you marry me’ blushing fan, but more of the admiring one. I know you from Dr Watson’s blog, even if he does romanticise it all. How could I fail to know you, what with the trademark coat and scarf?”

“Well, it nice to have someone that agrees about John’s ramblings, even if you admit to being a fan of them.” Sherlock peered down at the work being done on his ankle and nodded in satisfaction; he was clearly medically trained in some respect, as Sherlock suspected.

“Ah, but I know you are secretly a fan of all the praise too.” He replied cheekily.

“That’s rather presumptuous of you.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes, “You still intrigue me. I find myself at a disadvantage here, though. You know my name, yet I do not know yours.”

“Oh, yes, how rude of me! I’m Victor Trevor... I would tell you more about me, but you’ve deduced it all already, haven’t you?”

“Yes I have, Victor. You enjoyed boxing in your youth, breaking your nose twice, and still partake in it occasionally when you need to let out pent up frustration. You gained your money from your inheritance, but you don’t like to use it and feel like a snob, yet you still bought this place, because it has some sentimental memories for you; most likely from your university days when you _did_ splurge a lot of money and got your first long term partner, who died rather than left you, judging by the large amount of photos of you and him around the place. He never liked you paying for all his things and using the money and you agreed to use it sparingly, a habit that has stayed with you even after his death. You recently got the dog because you were lonely; five year anniversary of his death. You’ve moved on enough now to accept he’s gone, but not ready to find someone new, so you settled for an animal companion. You studied a year of medicine at university, but didn’t think it was right for you, so switched the course and studied... chemistry.”

Once more Victor stopped work on his ankle and looked up at him with pure admiration, “That was fantastic. I’ve always admired your work, but to be on the receiving end is quite another matter. It’s slightly invasive, yet flattering to be on the end of such genius.”

Sherlock cocked his head and opened his mouth to speak, but Victor gave a apologetic smile and began talking again.

“But... I regret to inform you, it wasn’t completely correct.”

“There’s always _something.”_ Sherlock muttered bitterly, “What was it? You didn’t do Chemistry, did you?”

Victor laughed, “No, I switched to English Literature. I do enjoy Chemistry in my spare time though. But there was something else,” he paused and Sherlock waited impatiently.

“Well? What is it?”

“I am perfectly ready to find someone new. I did love Chrissie- Christopher to everyone else- but I’m happy that he’d not want me to wallow in grief for the rest of my life. I do not have another partner, because I can’t _find_ one.”

“Then I misjudged you, Victor. You are not full of as much sentiment as I thought.”

“Well, I know emotions are not your strong point, Mr Holmes, so I won’t hold it against you. But the English... how you did not deduce that, I do not know!”

“Oh, stop with the Mr Holmes nonsense, you make me sound like my brother.” Sherlock scowled in reply.

“Ok then, _Sherlock,_ ” Victor laughed, “But I can see you are avoiding the question!”

“I wasn’t aware there was one.”

“Yes you did, you just don’t like to admit you’re wrong.”

Sherlock was silent for a moment, “Only John talks to me like that.”

“But you secretly wish more people would; it would make life more interesting for you.”

“You seem to think you know a lot about me.”

“Well, I’m good at reading people, I suppose.”

“I’m insulted to be grouped with ordinary _people.”_ Sherlock spat, but there was a humour behind it.

“Well then, I am good at reading geniuses.” Victor said with finality, just as he finished bandaging Sherlock’s bloody ankle, “There we go, all fixed up. I’d advise you to keep off it for a while.”

“You remind me of John.” Sherlock said as he carefully stood.

Victor smiled widely, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and he showed all of his teeth, “Well, that’s another honour I’ve been awarded today! But I’m nowhere near as good as him, not at all.”

He merely hummed in reply, and limped over to the door, but Victor reached out to stop him.

“Wait, you can’t go home like that! 221b is too far for you to walk especially on that ankle! Just stay here for the night; there’s plenty of room. And I have plenty chemistry equipment if you get bored.”

“This sounds like the start of an elaborate attempt at kidnapping me.”

“Oh, well, it’s not supposed to be.” Victor mused, “But if it would hold off the boredom I wouldn’t mind trying my hand at acting.”

“Hmm, no, you are not the type to kidnap. You are more of a poisoning type.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been prone to murder. As I said, though, I could indulge you, if you wish...”

Sherlock scoffed, “That will not be necessary. It would be far too simple for me to solve.”

“Sorry about that, I guess. But the offer still stands. No kidnap attempts, I promise.”

“While a lack of kidnapping is disappointing, I will take the offer.”

Sherlock wasn't troubled that he had never really planned on saying no, kidnapper or not. It was all part of the thrill.


	2. Chapter 2

Victor looked slightly startled, “Fantastic. I didn’t think that would work.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“I didn’t ask. I _told_ you to stay. And I’m surprised you listened. You did say you were going to leave immediately.”

“Well, as I said after that, you intrigue me.”

“Yes, you keep saying that.”

“Indeed.”

Sherlock was still standing by the door, coat and scarf wrapped around him, while Victor had thrown his off as soon as he had got in, standing opposite him. Being only a puppy, Gladstone was exhausted after his walk, and had curled up on the end of Victor’s bed, no longer a threat to Sherlock.

There was an inexplicable silence between the two, so Victor, not sure what to do, went to remove Sherlock’s coat and scarf.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock asked with a raised brow.

Victor stopped, “Er, I don’t really know.” He huffed out an awkward laugh, “I always used to take of Chrissie’s coat when he came home. I haven’t really had any visitors since he died...”

“I can remove my own coat.”

“Oh, yes, of course you can.” Victor stepped away, and into the kitchen, awkwardly making tea, “Sorry.”

“You miss him.”

“Of course I do!” Victor exclaimed, “I loved him!”

“Sentiment.”

“Yes, yes it is. But I know you’re not very good with that sort of thing, so shall we just forget about it?” Victor replied testily, yet he still managed to sound nice while doing so.

“Yes,” Sherlock debated for a second, “I apologise.”

“Oh, no need to apologise! It’s fine.”

Sherlock looked at Victor curiously, “You’re unlike anyone I have ever met.”

Victor inhaled sharply and dropped the spoon into the tea, “Is that a good thing?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I suppose you’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met too.”

“Then it must be a good thing.”

Victor turned around and laughed, “Ah, so you _were_ paying me a compliment!”

“No, it was merely an observation.”

“Ha! No, I refuse to believe it! You were complimenting me!”

“Observation.” Sherlock mumbled.

“How do you like your tea? No, wait don’t tell me!” Victor said quickly, then paused, fingers massaging his head, “...two sugars and a splash of milk.”

Sherlock’s eyes lit up, “Ah very good.”

“I told you I could read you.”

“You guessed.”

“Maybe a little.”

“It was an adequate guess, but guesswork is wholly unreliable”

“But was it all a guess?”

Sherlock laughed lowly, “Oh, John’s blog?”

“Ah, you’ve caught me out there! He mentioned it in the Hound case. ”

“And you retained the information?”

Victor blushed, “Well, er, I suppose I just have a good memory.”

“Quite.” Sherlock hummed as he took the tea.

They moved over to the sofa, where Victor idly flicked through the TV channels, looking for something not completely boring, almost impossible.

Sherlock took a sip of his tea and closed his eyes in satisfaction, “Mmmm, don’t tell John, but this may be the best tea I have ever tasted.”

“Hah! I doubt that! My tea is known to put people off tea for life!”

“Well, whoever it put off is an idiot.”

“That or John makes awful tea.”

Sherlock chuckled, “Don’t let him hear you say that; he may look like a hedgehog in a jumper, but he’s a crack shot.”

Laughing again, Victor stopped channel changing for a moment, the TV now showing Jeremy Kyle.

“Oh, of course they’re brother and sister, just look at the fingers!” Sherlock yelled at the TV with a scowl.

Laughing, Victor pointedly began to change the channels again, finally settling on the discovery channel.

Sherlock was quietly thrilled when Victor left Mythbusters on, John having banned him from watching it long ago. Ah, the experiments he could do...

After a few more hours of Mythbusters, Victor yawned and blinked sleepily. He stood up slowly, stretching as he went, and dragged himself over to the bedroom. He remembered about Sherlock just as he got to his bedroom door, and addressed him quickly.

“Sherlock, I’m just going to bed, er, you can have the spare room; it’s just down the hall and on the left.”

“Thank you, Victor, but I doubt I’ll be sleeping tonight. Could you direct me to your chemistry equipment?”

Victor yawned again, but complied, “Certainly, I’ll show you where everything is.”

He led Sherlock into a room with a huge bookcase and several comfy chairs dotted about in alcoves.

“Ah, I can see the Literature student well now.” Sherlock joked.

“My books, my loves.” Victor sighed happily, “Chrissie used to joke that I loved them more than him.”

Unsure of what to reply, Sherlock merely hummed once more.

Victor stopped in front of one of the shelves and smiled tiredly at Sherlock, “And this is the pièce de résistance!”

He pushed the bookshelf, and it opened wide like a door. Behind the secret door was a long thin room filled with all sorts of chemicals and equipment, all neatly labelled and organised. It was pristine and had everything Sherlock could need inside.

“Apparently the previous owner used this as a safe...I thought I’d spruce it up a bit.”

“You are full of many surprises, Victor!” Sherlock exclaimed happily, “I think I shall be a visitor more often than is welcome after this!”

“Ah, I think that is impossible; you’ll never be unwelcome here! Come and go as you like!”

“You are a saint, Victor!” Sherlock said excitedly, grabbing Victor’s shoulders and grinning madly at him.

“Yes, but saints need their sleep. Don’t hesitate to ask if you need anything, and just use anything you need.”

Sherlock made an affirming noise, almost masked by the sound of him jangling test tubes.

Victor padded back to his room and saw the sleeping puppy curled up on his duvet. He stroked his head affectionately, and then climbed into bed, falling asleep almost instantly.


	3. Chapter 3

Victor awoke to barking, yelling and the smell of burning toast. This wasn’t the first time, and although he didn’t know it yet, it wouldn’t be the last. Not by a mile.

Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes sleepily, and blinked to adjust to the light in the room. The barking and shouting continued, although the smell was dissipating a bit. After he heaved himself out of bed, he blindly grabbed his dressing gown, and donned it as he made his way to the commotion in the kitchen.

When he got there, it was a surprising sight. Sherlock had obviously tried to make toast, only to burn it to a crisp. It looked as though he had tripped over Gladstone as he made his way across the kitchen, and was now sitting on the floor rubbing his sore ankle and cursing the poor dog. Gladstone was barking loudly at Sherlock and attempting to lick his face, but Sherlock kept pushing him away. The dog did not relent; if Sherlock and Gladstone had one thing in common, it was that they were both stubborn as hell.

“Gladstone! Heel!” Victor called to his puppy, and he dutifully padded over to Victors side and pawed tenderly at his leg. Victor reached down and stroked his head, cooing slightly.  

“Don’t reward it! It attacked me!” Sherlock grumpily called from the floor.

“He was only trying to give you a kiss! Weren’t you boy?” The dog yapped and jumped up to lick Victor’s cheek, “See? Who’s a good boy?”

Sherlock scowled, “Disgusting.”

“Yes, well, that’s why he’s my dog and not yours!”

“Stupid dog.”

Victor smiled at Sherlock before standing and extending a hand to help him up. Sherlock took it after a brief hesitation, and was clearly in pain when he stood.

“Not much better then?”

“It’s fine.”

“Are you sure? You can stay as long as you like.”

“No thank you, although the offer is appreciated. I have to check on my experiments at home,” he paused, looking guilty for a moment, “Speaking of which, try not to be alarmed when you look in your lab.”

 Victor blinked blankly for a moment, and then shook his head with a smile, “I should have known. It’s fine. I have little else to do but tidy up around here!”

Another silence passed between them.

“I should be going now; I need to check on my mould spores...” Sherlock began.

“Oh, yes, of course!” Victor exclaimed with wide eyes, “Er, would you like to borrow some money for a cab?”

“What about your motorbike?” Sherlock replied with a cheeky grin.

Victor mentally hit himself; of _course_ Sherlock knew about his bike, “You want a ride on my bike?”

“Why else would I say so?”  

“If you really want to...” Victor said, as though it was a great pain to him, but the wide smile on his face said otherwise.

“Of course; I have an experiment I could try too.”

“Alright then,” Victor replied walking into his room, “Let me just get changed and we can be off!”

Waiting in the kitchen, Sherlock sipped his cold tea while Victor got changed. It was a good ten minutes before he came out, newly donned in a pair of leather motorcycle trousers, a simple white t-shirt and a part-way buttoned leather jacket.

Sherlock was attracted to the mind, if he was attracted to anything, but he had always had an appreciation of the human body. The way it functioned, the way bones and blood and organs and nerves could combine to make a complex being, it fascinated him. But now he found himself fascinated for another reason; Victor looked amazing. The tight leather was like looking at him in the nude, every curve of the muscles visible, the stark contrast of the black against Victor’s pale skin highlighting the veins and capillaries beneath. The way his smile showed all of his teeth, telling Sherlock secrets of his childhood, the green eyes betraying emotions and a fitting metaphor for the uniqueness of Victor Trevor.

Sherlock didn’t realised he hadn’t spoken until Victor did; “Sherlock? Are you alright?”

“Yes, of course,” he said blinkingly.

“Shall we set off then?”

“Yes, of course,” Sherlock repeated again.

Victor smiled widely and gestured to the door, “Let’s go!”

They entered the garage, where Victor’s motorbike stood proudly, a sleek black Harley with chrome finishing.  Victor picked up two helmets from a shelf nearby and handed one to Sherlock who looked at it in disgust.

“You wear it, or you don’t ride.” Victor warned.

Sherlock scowled, but shoved the red plastic onto his head. His cheeks were pushed out slightly, giving him an adorable scrunched up face. Victor smiled tenderly, and then pulled on his own black helmet, giving him much the same facial expression as Sherlock.

“Right! Let’s get this show on the road!” Victor said happily as he opened the garage door, daylight streaming into the dusty garage. It was a chilly morning, but the sun was bright and shining. He pushed the bike out onto the frosty drive, Sherlock shutting the garage door behind them without prompt.

Victor threw his leg over the bike and started the engine. He gestured for Sherlock to get on the back, but Sherlock was already straddling the bike before he could say anything. Suddenly Victor felt hands lightly gripping his hips, fingers almost caressing his hips. He shuddered in pleasure, something Sherlock had to have noticed, and felt a blush sting on his cheeks.

“Shall we set off then, Victor?” Sherlock’s voice was muffled in his ear, but it was still deep and sensual. Victor couldn’t help but quiver once more.

“Yes,” he moaned, immediately flushing when he realised he said it out loud, “I- I er, let’s go...” he managed to squeak out as he revved the engine. Sherlock grasped a little tighter to his new friend’s waist and they sped off out of the drive, and onwards to 221B Baker Street.

Victor didn’t see the satisfied smirk Sherlock had plastered on his face.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time they arrived at Baker Street, Sherlock’s fingers were dangerously close to Victor’s groin. Sherlock’s hands still remained firmly on Victor’s waist, but his spidery fingers were more than long enough to be prodding just above his crotch.  

Blushing furiously, Victor pushed up his visor and moaned heavily, “Sherlock...”

“Victor...” the detective replied, moving his hands from waist to thigh, fingers caressing the leather-clad flesh on the inside of his leg.

Victor’s eyes closed, and he let out a light groan, one hand coming down to rest on Sherlock’s knee that was resting near his hip. Victor forgot that they were sitting on a motorbike on the cold autumn morning in the middle of the street, forgot about almost everything, until he felt the warm comforting presence ripped away from him.

He blinked bemusedly, removing his helmet and turning slightly to see Sherlock standing on the pavement, coat billowing out, and helmet clutched between those sinful hands. He looked perfectly composed, whereas Victor was beet-red and giddy.

“I’ll keep this I think, Victor.” He gestured to the helmet in his hands, “I plan on seeing a lot more of you in future.”

Victor’s mouth went dry, “Yes, yes that’s good. Good. More than good; magnificent even.”  

Sherlock stepped closer, thrusting out his hand for Victor to shake, to which responded almost immediately, grasping his palm. Sherlock leaned forward so his face was inches from Victor’s and purred slowly, “Lovely to meet you, _Victor_.”

Victor shivered again, right down to his toes, and smiled blindly as Sherlock stood straight once more and offered him a warm grin in return.

“Goodbye, Victor, I hope to see you _very_ soon.”

“Bye, Sherlock, I- thank you.”

“Whatever for?”

Victor looked down and smiled, “Oh the company.”

Sherlock nodded and stepped back once more, nodding his final goodbye.

Shoving the helmet back on his head, Victor reluctantly started his bike, and slowly drove off down the street, completely aware of Sherlock watching him, and the lustful smile on his face. He waved once he got the end of the street, and started with the real speed to get home, the engine roaring loudly, echoing down the empty street.  

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erm, I realise in my last chapter notes I said the next chapter would be in an hour. Well, that went well. :P  
> I have got a chapter now though! Sorry about the wait! I've had a-levels and stuff so... yeah.... ENJOY :)

“Sherlock Holmes, where the _hell_ have you been?”

Sherlock was stopped by the voice just short of his bedroom, still holding the helmet in his fingers and still dressed in the clothes from yesterday. He sighed loudly and spun around to face the angry John.

“Out.”

John’s jaw clenched, “Out where? You said you were on the way home at 8 last night and then you refused to answer my calls! I checked with Lestrade, Molly, I even asked bloody Mycroft and none of them knew where you were!”

“Oh Mycroft probably has the entire thing filmed, John, I was in no danger so he didn’t say where I was.”

“And where, exactly, was that?” John persisted.

“With a...” Sherlock hesitated, he supposed Victor was a... “friend.”

“A friend?”

“Yes, John, I do have the capability to make them.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“What friend? One who takes you on wild motorbike trips around London?”

Sherlock scowled, “Who are you, my mother? Although mummy would probably be pleased that I was actually socializing with people...”

“Sherlock, that’s not the point. The point is that you were gone and didn’t answer your phone and anything could have happened to you!” John said concerned, “And who is this ‘friend’? Not...Sebastian?”

“Sebastian? Really, John? No it wasn’t _him._ His name is Victor.” Sherlock said passively, “And I was perfectly fine, you know that I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can take care of yourself most of the time, but I’d still like to know that you’re ok, Sherlock. Please, just next time tell me if you’re going to your... friend’s place.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes again, but nodded too, if in exasperation.

“Right. Good. Well... tea?” John asked.

Sherlock smiled at the memory of Victor’s tea, and chuckled to himself a bit remembering the conversation they had, “Tea would be nice, John.”

John smiled across to him, pulled two mugs out of the cupboard and proceeded to make tea for two.

Sherlock placed the helmet he was still holding over the skull on the mantel piece and threw himself onto the sofa, eyes closed.

“So...” he heard John say from the kitchen, “Victor... where did you meet him? University?”

“Hmm, no. His dog bit me yesterday on the way back to the flat.”

He heard John pause in his tea making, “So you met him yesterday? Only yesterday and you went back to his flat? Jesus Sherlock, he could have been anyone!”

“I am not an idiot, John, I deduced him as soon as I spoke to him. He’s a fan of mine. And of your blog too, actually.”

“I told you people like my blog... but that’s not the point... who the hell is this man Sherlock? And you went back to his flat after knowing him how long? An hour?” John asked as he placed the tea on the coffee table in front of Sherlock.

Sherlock sat up and took a long sip; good, but not quite as good as Victor’s. Sherlock swallowed the tea then spoke again, “I went back to his flat because his stupid dog mauled my ankle, and he was clearly of no threat to me. I did not _go back to his flat_ it the terms you’re thinking of.”

John blushed a little, “Yes, well, forgive me for jumping to conclusions when you show up in the same clothes smelling of a different aftershave after a night at a stranger’s house.” John stopped talking then blinked a little, “Wait, did you say his dog mauled you ankle?”

“Yes, it did. Victor was kind enough to patch it up for me. He studied medicine briefly so he was more than capable.”

John had put his tea down and lifted up Sherlock’s foot, ignoring the Detective’s ramblings, “It’s this ankle, right?”

He got his answer in Sherlock’s wince.

“John I assure you my ankle is perfectly fine!”

John just ignored him again, pulling up his trouser leg and inspecting the bandage, “Well he seems to have done a half decent job, but it’ll need changing soon.”

“I told you it was fine.” Sherlock pouted.

“Mhmm, sure Sherlock.” John replied.

He walked back into the kitchen with his empty mug, but almost dropped it in surprise when the doorbell gave a loud buzz.

“Who the bloody fuck is here at 10am!?” John muttered to himself, going off to answer the door, “Lestrade, I swear to god if that’s you...”

But it wasn’t Lestrade.  It was a tall man with wild blonde curls and piercing green eyes, and he smiled warmly at John, “Oh, hello Doctor Watson! I’m Victor Trevor... erm, Sherlock left his scarf at my flat, so I thought I’d get it back as soon as possible.”

He held out the blue scarf for John to take.

“Er, hello... er, call me John, please...why don’t you come in?”


	6. Chapter 6

Victor had sat down in the living room on Sherlock’s sulking sofa, as John liked to call it, and was looking around the room with mild fascination. He seemed to take most interest in Sherlock’s experiment on the coffee table, and only just refrained from picking it up to investigate further. John had managed to direct Sherlock to the kitchen under the ruse of ‘helping to make tea’, so the detective stood huffily against the counter, scowling at John and anticipating some crude remarks.

“So,” John began quietly, spooning sugar into two of the three mugs while the kettle boiled, “Victor seems nice...”

“He is interesting, yes.”

“As interesting as the work?” he smirked, “Don’t think I didn’t see how you looked at him when he came in. I may not be a genius like you, but I’m not blind.”

“What look?” Sherlock glowered.

“The ‘oh-there’s-been-a-triple-murder-with-looked-doors-and-no-windows’ look.” John grinned as poured the water into the cups, then turned around, “Oh and is that a blush I see?”

“I do not _blush_.” the detective snapped, “And I could solve a triple murder in a locked room easily. Now the marshmallow murderer... “

“Now now, don’t try and change the subject! I know you _like_ him Sherlock, don’t try to deny it!”

“I do not!” he replied petulantly, escaping to the living room and flouncing onto the sofa beside Victor.

“I’ll continue this later, Sherlock! Don’t think I won’t!” John shouted from the kitchen, causing Sherlock to grumpily slide down a bit further in his seat and Victor to smile fondly.

It was quiet for a while, only the noises of John finishing up the tea floating through from the kitchen and Victor occasionally humming in interest at the experiment could be heard.

Sherlock had noticed his interest and sat forward to examine Victor’s face, “There was an interesting case, about a 9, where the murderer turned the corpses into human gelatine and subsequently made marshmallows for cannibals. So naturally I’m testing how long it takes for one to make gelatine at home using mildly primitive equipment.”

Victor looked up at him and smiled, “And I assume you were doing something similar in my labs? I didn’t see any human remains, but you had a chicken carcass.”

“Yes, the carcass! How is it getting on? I doubt much had happened this quickly, but I need to catalogue each stage.”

“Ah, well I didn’t look properly, but it seemed to be intact, if a little flaky. How long have you been monitoring this one? The flesh seems to be tenderising, but little else has happened. I suppose it must only a week or so.”

Sherlock blinked at Victor for a moment, and then beamed, “A week and three days.” He shuffled a bit closer, “Do you want to hear how I solved the case? John hasn’t written a blog post about it yet...”

“Oh which case is this?” asked John as carried a tray of tea and biscuits, “The Marshmallow Murderer?”

“I hope you’re not giving it that ridiculous name.” Sherlock said haughtily, “And yes, I thought Victor might appreciate it.”

“I’m sure it’ll be as brilliant as ever. And as much as I do enjoy your blog, John, it would be an honour to hear it from Sherlock’s point of view.” Victor replied sincerely.

John shot Sherlock a pointed look, taking note of the slight blush that was once again on the detective’s cheeks, “Well I’ll just be in the kitchen clearing out that mould experiment- don’t say you need them, Sherlock! You did that experiment last month! And I’m going to move....that... to the kitchen. Don’t worry I’m not going to ruin it.”

Shaking his head as he went, John padded back to the kitchen with the bowl of human gelatine in his hands, leaving Victor and Sherlock alone together.

“So, Lestrade called, and as usual got most of the facts about the case wrong, including where the bodies were, or more importantly, what had been done to them...”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost completely changed this chapter, and am like 100x happier with it! 
> 
> Still don't know what rubbish I was writing yesterday; one can only assume I had a bout of insanity.
> 
> Hopefully it's more in character and just generally better. :P

Victor had been enthralled throughout the whole story, tea going cold as he gripped his mug and watched Sherlock with awe.

“...and so he chose to evade capture by boiling himself in the vat of human gelatine.” Sherlock concluded.

“Wow. That was amazing!” Victor exclaimed, “Truly brilliant!”

They were sitting very close now, Victor had leaned forward to capture every word of Sherlock’s and the detective had dropped one hand to Victor’s knee unconsciously.

“You think so?” Sherlock beamed under the praise.

Victor nodded vehemently, “Very much so.”

There was a moment of tangible silence between the pair, both looking at each other intently, but it was quickly interrupted by John clearing his throat as he walked towards them.

“So...” he began, “Victor, would you like to stay for dinner?”

“Oh, er, I would love to, but I need to get home to see Gladstone,” Victor replied sheepishly, “I’m free tomorrow night, if you would like to out for dinner then?” he realised he seemed to be directing the invitation to John alone, so quickly rectified it, “Both of you, of course?”

John opened his mouth to reply, but Sherlock cut across him quickly, “Unfortunately Lestrade will be calling with a case in about,” he looked at his watch fleetingly, “thirty minutes. I suspect it’s about an 8 and will probably spill over to tomorrow evening too. That reminds be John, you’ll have to cancel work tomorrow, and that lunch date you were hoping for with...Mandy is it?”

“Mary, Sherlock, her name is Mary.” John replied impatiently, “And I’m not just dropping everything for you!”

“You say that every time, and every time you end up coming anyway.”

“Not this time!” John answered testily, but then seemed to think on it for a bit, “Right, how about we compromise? I’ll cancel work, hopefully Sarah won’t be too mad, but I am keeping the date! Mary has been a saint dealing with me running off for you, so I think I owe her this one lunch date.”

“Fine. But you can’t blame me if I punch Anderson in your absence.”

“Well I can't say I'm happy about that, but then again I can't say he doesn't deserve it. Right, that’s sorted then.” He nodded and then remembered Victor, “Oh and as long as no murders happen on Saturday, we should be free for dinner. That ok, Sherlock?”

“That seems acceptable. We’ll go to Angelo’s. I’ll text you the details. ”

“Oh, I’ll have to give you my number, let me just...” Victor patted down is pockets to find his phone.

“No matter, I already have it. I got it while I was at your flat.” Sherlock interrupted.

“Oh right! I should have known,” grinned Victor, before standing up slowly “I really have to go now. I’m sorry to run out on you so soon, but I have left Gladstone alone for a while. He is only a puppy, and he misses me dearly when I depart...”

“It’s fine! I used to have a puppy like that when I was a kid. Would bark like mad when I came home and refuse to leave my side for the rest of the day” John smiled, then held out his hand for Victor to shake, which he did so politely, “It was very nice to meet you!”

“I hope to see you well on Saturday, John, and you too Sherlock!”

Sherlock stood up and also shook Victor’s hand, although much more intimately than the handshake with John. They were standing much closer, and Sherlock held Victor’s elbow lightly, smiling sweetly (or as sweetly as he could) at Victor before talking smoothly, “Goodbye Victor, I very much look forward to Saturday.”

Victor swallowed heavily, “Yes, me too.”

They stepped back from one another, and Victor gathered his coat and helmet before heading to the door and pausing, “Thanks ever so much for having me.” He smiled and left John and Sherlock in the flat.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mainly a filler chapter :)

“So... Victor eh?” John smirked.

“Shut up.”  Sherlock scowled and flopped down on the sofa.

“And I thought you fancied that Adler woman...this is a whole new level.”

“John.” He said, the threat very clear in his voice.

“Alright, alright, but I’m still right!” John smiled again, “Anyway, I can’t _possibly_ come to dinner on Saturday. After all, it is date night, and I have one with Mary.”

“I thought Friday night was date night?”

“Well it depends when you have your date, doesn’t it? And yours is on Saturday.”

“It is most certainly not a date. I will not hear one more word about it or I’ll conveniently relocate that experiment to your room.”

John threw him a sour-faced look, “Fine, spoilsport. And I thought you said Lestrade was going to call?”

“Oh, he is.” Sherlock glanced at his watch again, “In about two minutes.”

John nodded and picked up the empty mugs from the coffee table, just as Sherlock’s mobile buzzed, “Well you were a bit off there.”

“I made an estimate with 94% accuracy, the 6% accounted for this.” The detective pouted, jumping up from the sofa, throwing his coat on and rushing out of the door, “Hurry up, John!”

John merely hummed and grabbed his own coat, taking his time as he knew Sherlock would wait for him. It was a small victory he had each time they had a case but he would use it to his advantage whenever he could.

When he reached the taxi Sherlock was waiting impatiently, leg bouncing like it often did when he was agitated.

“It seems someone is a big fan of your blog, John. They’ve showed their appreciation by copying every murder you have written about. They have replicated the first 8 murders but have also left a calling card of their own. Lestrade didn’t mention what but I assume it’s something ridiculous like a black rose or a literal playing card.”

“Don’t blame my blog for this! It’s not my fault that people are inclined to murder but have no ideas of their own.”

“Hmm, quite... at least it has given me an interesting case to solve.” He said gleefully, eyes glinting.

“Remember, people have died. It’s not a good thing.” John hastily reminded him.

Sherlock didn’t comment further but nodded briskly.

There was silence in the cab until there were a few streets away from Scotland Yard, when John began to talk.

“So which case did they-“

“Shh, thinking.”

“Sherlock-“

“Quiet!” he replied testily.

John sat back into the seat and huffed until they arrived.


	9. Chapter 9

Sherlock scowled at himself in the mirror, straightening his collar and attempting to flatten his hair. John had come in briefly to grab some hair gel so he’d had to pretend to be brushing his teeth to avoid immature comments. It turned out John could make an immature comment about anything.

“Hoping for a kiss, Sherlock?” he asked cheekily.

Sherlock glowered, “What are you talking about?”

“I’d take some gum with you too, I know how much you enjoy Angelo’s arrabbiata, and tomato breath isn’t particularly pleasant.”

“Shut up. This is merely a polite dinner.”

“You’ve never done anything polite in your life, Sherlock.”

“Did you actually come in here for a reason, or was it your goal to be an insufferable moron.”

“Point in case. And deflection. Anyway, I came to get some hair gel, but I guess you’ve used it in one of your stupid experiments again.” John lowered his voice, “Or to style your own hair.”

“I’ll be moving that experiment to your room and Mary will be in for a nice surprise.”

“Ha! As though I’d bring Mary back here. Speaking of which, I’d advise you not to being Victor back here, I’m not sure he’d appreciate that experiment going on in your room.”

“Why would I bring Victor back here?” he said, feigning ignorance.

John snorted, “You’re unbelievable.” He glanced at his watch, “Shit, I better be going or I’ll be late.”

He escaped the bathroom, followed by Sherlock.

“John,” he gestured to his attire with an embarrassed grimace, not wanting to ask if he looked presentable.

“You look fine, Sherlock. Very nice. I’m sure Victor will be head over heels.”

“I don’t need your option on my appearance; I am perfectly able to decide for myself, thank you.”

John was not fooled, “Yeah, yeah, you keep telling yourself that. I really have to go now... behave yourself and try not to insult anyone.”

He grabbed his coat, patted Sherlock on the shoulder, much to his distain, and left.

Dithering about, Sherlock shuffled some papers around and, although he would never admit it, jumped when the doorbell rang.

He walked calmly to the door, restraining his smile before he opened it to reveal a grinning Victor. He was dressed in a black fitted shirt and red bow tie, his waistcoat and pants also dark red and he was carrying an umbrella similar to Mycroft’s. He must have left his jacket at home; it was a warm evening, despite the odd shower.

“You remind me far too much of my brother holding that insipid thing.”

 “Well, I think I’ll risk it with this unpredictable rain.” Victor grinned, “Are you ready to go?”

“Hmm, yes, I think I’ll leave my coat for today.” He replied as they slipped of out the hall and locked up.

“Is John not coming?”

“No, I forgot to say, he’s got a date with Mary.”

“Oh, right, so it’s just the two of us. Good.”

“Is it?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I suppose its unfortunate John can’t come but,” Victor blushed, “it’s nice to be alone with you.”

“There is some enjoyment in being alone.” Sherlock agreed, “Shall we get a taxi?”

“Oh yes, although it may be hard to flag down in this area.”

Sherlock’s eyes glinted, “You’d be surprised.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day? It's a miracle. I may even have a third one up too. Count this as your christmas present. :P

Anthea looked at her phone in surprise, a video of Sherlock and Victor going out to dinner playing repeatedly on screen.

“Sir, I think you may want to see this.”

“Yes, Anthea?”

“I believe Sherlock is going to dinner with Victor Trevor.”

“The man who’s dog mauled him?”

“The very same.”

“Interesting,” Mycroft muttered, tapping his umbrella on his knee, “Background check?”

“Came up clean. Previous partner died; no suspicious circumstances. Fairly wealthy. He seems nice.”

“I’ll have to arrange a... meeting.”

“They’re on their way to Angelo’s; I can have a car sent over when they’re finished.”

“I’m afraid I have a previous engagement tonight.”

“Oh yes, dinner with DI Lestrade? How a lunchtime chat tomorrow?”

“If it can be arranged around my schedule, then certainly.” Mycroft frowned at the image of his brother smiling with this near stranger, “I suspect this chat with _Victor_ will be rather enlightening.”


End file.
